


Twister

by thedropoutandthejunkie (elenajames)



Series: Bad Influence [8]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Food Play, Games, M/M, Silly Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-13
Updated: 2015-06-13
Packaged: 2018-04-04 07:10:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4129278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elenajames/pseuds/thedropoutandthejunkie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam didn't get to play a lot of board games as a child. Brady's got a plan to fix that . . . albeit with a twist.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Twister

“Just give a try, Sam. It’s just for fun,” Brady coaxes as he wraps his arms around Sam’s waist. All Sam can do is sigh, eyeing the cheap plastic mat laying on their kitchen floor. Part of him is regretting ever mentioning to Brady that he’d never played a lot of ‘classic’ games growing up. After all, dice, cards, and small plastic toys were the only feasible games for the Impala, and could be stashed easily in duffle bags.   


Still, it was sweet of his boyfriend to keep bringing home games for them to play; Brady was bound and determined to grant Sam at least a little taste of the experiences that were so normal for him, but so foreign to Sam. However, they usually saved new games for nights when Jess or some of their other friends were over. And Brady was usually dressed in more than just boxers. 

Sam mentions the last to his boyfriend, and the laugh he gets in return sounds a little  … nervous? Twisting in his arms, Sam eyes Brady for a moment, who finally breaks. 

“I thought we could, ah, have a different type of fun. If you’re game?”   


“What did you have in mind?” Sam asks warily. Sure, their forays in to kinky and adventurous sex had, so far, been pretty successful, but Brady being nervous always made Sam nervous.   


He laughs a little in relief when Brady brings forth a package four tubes of edible body paint, but he doesn’t miss the flash of hurt and the embarrassed flush that creeps up on his boyfriend’s cheeks. Sam tugs him close and kisses him gently, pulling the package from his fingers to inspect as he pulls way. The colors match the dots on the game mat, and each tube is meant to be a different flavor. 

“Come on. Let’s play, then,” Sam says with a shy smile. It’s worth it to see the grin that lights up Brady’s face.   


Sam strips down and listens as Brady explains the rules of the game. It seems easy enough, although he’s not sure if his long limbs will be more of a help or a hindrance. Still, he willingly holds out his right hand for the first daub of paint, gingerly resting it on one of the yellow dots. Brady flicks the spinner each time, and it isn’t long before they’re a mess of paint, contorted around each other. Sam tries to shift over just enough to get his foot onto green, when he slips. Brady comes tumbling down with him, his limbs swept out from under him as Sam tries to catch himself. They’re left pressed close together, smeared in multicolored paint  and laughing. 

Brady pushes himself up, and Sam can feel the hard press of cock against his hip. His breath catches when the other man leans in close, trailing one paint-wet finger down Sam’s throat and following it with his mouth. Sneaking his own hand down, Sam pulls Brady’s hand to his mouth and sets to work sucking and lapping his fingers clean, noting every hitch of breath and soft moan his work earns him. 

It’s messy, slick, and their boxers are only half off when they get their hands around each other, using the paint to slick their hands. Sam cradles Brady’s face close, unworried about the streaks of color he’s leaving there, eyes locked and breath mingling as they pant. Their bodies slide easily together as handjobs devolve into frotting, clinging to each other as their mouths brush together with each thrust. 

Sam spills first, adding to the mess between them. He wraps his legs tight around Brady’s waist, grinding upward to try to help his lover get off, breathy encouragement spilling from his lips against Brady’s paint-wet cheek. Brady comes with a little cry, pushing his mouth to Sam’s to muffle it, and he collapses against the taller man. 

“So that was fun,” Sam breathes after a while. “Real wholesome childhood mph-”   


Brady claps a hand over his mouth to shush him laughing. “You liked it. And it  _was_  fun, just like I promised.” 

Sam mumbles behind Brady’s hand, finally resorting to licking at his palm to get him to pull away, and giggling at the disgusted look it gets him. 

“Like my spit is the messiest part about this.” And it’s true. They’re smeared in colorful streaks of paint from head to foot, come mixed in on their bellies, and some of the mess has gotten onto the kitchen tile in the midst of their … activity. “You’re so cleaning up the kitchen.”   


“Deal,” Brady says, swiping his hand over a bare patch of Sam’s chest. 


End file.
